Behind Belgravia
by Redderhead
Summary: Story Mashup - My version of Scandel in Belgravia. JOHNLOCK. I really hope you enjoy. Rated M for last chapter even though I tried not to go too graphic. Don't like? Please don't read.
1. Chapter 1

_Please note – you may have to be familiar with The Scandal in Belgravia episode for this story to make any sense – even then it still probably doesn't! Not to mention there are spoilers for the end of the Episode. I do not own any of the magnificent characters or storylines. This is purely for free fun for us fan-fiction addicts. Enjoy._

_Behind Belgravia_

"Sherlock?" John panicked as he walked into the whitewashed, cold bedroom "Jesus. Sherlock? What have you given him?" John demanded as he walked over to the limp form of his colleague and glanced harshly at the woman wearing his friends' coat.

"Don't worry, I've given it to loads of my friends" She said seductively "He'll wake up in a few hours, make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit, it makes for a very unattractive corpse."

John stared at her as though she was mad; he then looked back at the detective writhing on the floor, obviously trying to fight the drug she had given him.

"I was wrong about him; he did know where to look." She drawled from her seat on the window sill.

"What are you talking about?" John asked bitterly.

"The key code to my safe" She said.

"What was it?" John asked quickly, his curiosity overtaking him.

"Shall I tell him?" She asked Sherlock, watching as the man tried and failed yet again to move.

"My measurements" She said, leaving the impact of her words as she suddenly disappeared.

John ran to the window, too late, she was gone, he would never catch up. He ran back to Sherlock, skidding slightly across the floor on his knees, he picked up Sherlock's head and placed it on his own thighs;

"Its ok, Sherlock, I've got you." John whispered frantically, listening desperately to the police siren growing closer as he took his pulse and examined his eyes.

John smoothed down the detective's unruly curls as Sherlock's eyes fluttered open and closed several times, trying to see through the haze to his friend.

"J-John?" Sherlock muttered questioningly.

"I'm here" John murmured, nursing Sherlock's head, and then he was gone; unconscious on John's lap.

A Police constable attacked the front door; John didn't want to leave Sherlock's side so he patiently waited for them to make their progress through the front door before shouting out to them.

Two policemen ran up the stairs and into the bedroom to see John and Sherlock on the floor.

"Get Inspector Lestrade, please." John said calmly.

Within an hour the police had blocked off the house, cleared the doctor and unconscious genius of any charges and taken away the Americans.

"Do you need me to call an ambulance?" Lestrade asked pointing to the limp detective.

"No, it should be ok; can we have a ride though?" John asked tentatively, he didn't relish the thought of a taxi ride.

"Thompson, give these two a lift back to Baker Street." Lestrade said to a nearby policeman, who nodded curtly in understanding of his orders.

"Thanks Greg." John said gratefully as the man named Thompson helped John to raise Sherlock from the couch they were sitting on to make a statement and help him out the door.

"John, John, we should go after her" Sherlock muttered, his speech slurred as he tried to wake himself up.

"No, no, Sherlock, its ok, she's been dealt with, don't worry about her" John lied to give Sherlock piece of mind.

"You're a terrible liar, John" Sherlock muttered surprising John – even when the man was heavily drugged he was still a genius.

In the back of the police car, the two remained quiet, Sherlock attempted to lift his head from the head rest but successfully managed to slide himself down instead, his ear coming to rest on John's good shoulder. John smiled, he had never seen Sherlock like this; it could prove quite entertaining, however, this thought flew far from John's mind as he watched Sherlock's hand fly out and grab hold of his own, the long fingers entwining with his shorter ones. John remained frozen, looking down at their hands.

"That's us here, do you need a hand?" Thompson asked, turning in his seat to see John, he smiled a little at the doctors' predicament.

"Thank you, no, he is so goddamn light I'll be able to carry him if needs be, thanks for the lift" John said hurriedly as he pushed Sherlock up right and got out of the car. He walked round to the pavement and carefully opened Sherlock's door; unplugging his seatbelt and pulling him out onto his feet.

Balancing Sherlock on his side, he managed to close the car door and somehow get them to the door of 221B as the police car drove off.

"Ok, Sherlock you lean there, I'll just open the door and then we can get you upstairs to bed" John said encouragingly as he wrapped his arm around Sherlock's waist.

"Will you be there?" Sherlock slurred as he wrapped his arm around John's shoulders to cling to him.

"I live here, so I will be here, yes" John said absentmindedly as he slid the appropriate key into the large lock.

"I hate bed" Sherlock muttered, his head falling on to John's shoulder once more. "Sleep with me?" he asked innocently, raising his head once more to attempt an inquisitive stare into John's eyes; but it ended up as a bit of a shifty wide eyed gaze.

John let the door swing open and hit the wall behind it with a bang as he swiftly looked up at Sherlock in shock.

"Yoo hoo, I've told you boys before about letting that door – is everything ok?" Mrs Hudson stopped mid rant in the corridor as she caught sight of a very drunk looking Sherlock.

This snapped John out of his stupor and he glanced at Mrs Hudson; "Yes, everything's fine, Sherlock just managed to get himself a little drugged" he said lightly as to not alarm her.

Sherlock chose this moment to slump against John, his eyes closed, his body not responding. John smiled; he then bent down to gather Sherlock in his arms; lifting the surprisingly compact form of the lanky detective efficiently and carrying him over the threshold.

"Goodness" Mrs Hudson said, her hand over her mouth as she watched John swiftly carry his flatmate up the staircase. She then smiled despite the situation and moved toward the front door, closing it lightly.

John lay Sherlock down on the detective's bed; he pulled off his large black shoes and teased his suit jacket from his shoulders. The duvet and sheets came next; tucking Sherlock in was a strange activity; John had never seen the man so vulnerable. The soldier sat down on the edge of the mattress to recover for a minute; the detective was lighter than he should be, but John hadn't carried a man for a long time and his shoulder ached painfully.

John felt a hand on his back; and he turned to see Sherlock, his eye lids heavy and his eyebrows furrowed.

"Stay" he whispered.

John nodded and removed his own shoes; he stretched out beside the lanky detective on the surprisingly comfortable double bed. Lying on his side, John watched as Sherlock smiled lazily at him, he was caught off-guard as Sherlock brought a hand up to John's face; resting it against his cheek and almost poking him in the eye;

"My John" he said sleepily. "Must look after him" he said faintly.

John smiled despite himself, watching as the drugged man slowly let his eye lids fall closed. Once the doctor was sure Sherlock was asleep he snuck out from under the detective's slim hand and allowed one last glance to the unconscious figure before closing the door lightly; walking through to the living room.

John made himself a cup of tea and heated a little bit of risotto that Mrs Hudson had left in their fridge, thankfully with a lid over the container, sealing it off from the _experiments _lining the appliance.

As John sat in his armchair, quietly eating and pondering on the day's events; he didn't get very far with solving the case and so allowed his mind to replay the journey home. He smiled widely as he visualised Sherlock at his most vulnerable; asking him to stay with him as he slept.

This had become John's new guilty pleasure.

As much as John hated to admit it; he would never find someone who mattered more than Sherlock Holmes. The man managed to anger him, possess him, make him laugh uncontrollably and sob just as equally.

John admired Sherlock. He revelled in being at his side; being needed, being special enough to be this close to the genius.

He briefly bristled at the thought of Irene Adler; maybe Sherlock admired her. She obviously had one of the same brains as Sherlock; different breed yes, but still just as intelligent.

And the audacity to wear _his coat, _even though he gave it to her, was just over whelming. John had worn the coat once before. Sherlock had given it to him one winter's evening as they were returning from a case; the long taxi ride meant that John had fallen asleep, woken up with Sherlock's coat draped around him protectively. He loved that coat. And now it was gone, tainted by a beautiful savage.

John heard an odd noise from the bathroom, he turned his head and stopped mid-chew to listen. He heard nothing further however, and decided it was just his hearing.

Once John had finished his meal and hot drink, he decided to check on Sherlock.

Still asleep in the same position, the lanky detective had pulled the duvet closer to him in John's absence. The doctor approached the bed and looked closely at him; Sherlock had in fact, been sick in his sleep.

John immediately checked his pulse, and sat him awkwardly against the headboard. He efficiently whipped out the soiled pillow and replaced it with one from the other side. John wiped at Sherlock's face and chin with a warm and wet flannel, cleaning all traces away - briefly wondering what on earth Sherlock could have vomited as he had not eaten for over 24 hours.

"There we go, Sherlock, that's it, and back down." John lifted Sherlock and shifted him down once more against the pillows.

John rested on his hands for a minute, looking down at the sleeping detective. He was worried, how could he be sure Sherlock wasn't going to be sick once more? He would have to stay with him after all.

John looked toward the window, it was getting dark now, he could just pop in beside the brunette and just keep an eye on him till morning, or he could just sit outside his door and listen out for any unusual noises. Eventually, he decided he was being irrational, so he headed for the bedroom door with the intention of sitting in the kitchen with a book, within shouting distance if anything were to happen.

It was then that he spotted the coat.

How on Earth.

John stared dumbly at it, unsure of what to do. _She_ had been wearing it when she made her escape. John had not removed it from Sherlock's limp frame.

Someone must have been in here.

The thought clenched at John's insides and he felt instantly sick. Someone had managed to get into Sherlock's room within the last 2 hours, and John hadn't noticed – John hadn't been there to protect the vulnerable detective. John moved back a few steps and fumbled as he fell onto the chair in the corner of the room, not removing his stare from the coat hanging from the hook in the middle of the door.

He sat there for a long time, pondering on the entrance and exit of the coat bearer before Sherlock made a scoffing noise and snapped John out of his trance.

John stood and fixed his shirt, shrugging off the mystery as he approached the bed once more;

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I won't leave you now" John murmured as he combed some of Sherlock's curls back with his fingers. John thought of his abandoned book on the armrest of the living room chair, so he went to fetch it, the intention to return immediately and watch over his flatmate.

"John, John!" Sherlock's voice called, it sounded slightly alien and John rushed to get back to the room he had just left before he heard an almighty thump and his heart skipped a beat. Opening the door, John saw Sherlock getting up from the floorboard at the end of his bed.

"Everything ok?" He asked off-handedly.

"Where is she?" Sherlock asked dumbly, the left side of his hair was pillow flattened to an extreme and John found it hard not to laugh.

"Who? No ones been up here, Sherlock" John said quickly, he was going to keep his indiscretion a secret for as long as possible.

"That woman. The woman, woman." Sherlock mumbled; louder this time as he blinked furiously in order to focus on John.

"Irene Adler? She got away, Sherlock, no ones seen her" John answered quietly.

Sherlock stumbled about his room and finally fell with a soft thump to the floor, attempting to pull himself along the floor boards towards his bed.

"Nope, nope, come here" John swiftly walked forward and hoisted Sherlock up by his arm pits, throwing him unceremoniously onto the mattress, he winced at the harshness of his actions but he didn't want Sherlock thinking there was more to _them_ than colleagues, friends and flatmates.

Sherlock lay face down on his bed.

"Get some rest, I'll be out here if you need me" John said wearily.

"Why would I need you? I'm fine" Sherlock muttered sleepily.

"Of course you are" the doctor said dejectedly before closing the door and only just hearing the;

"Fine, Fine" from the resting detective.

John checked in on Sherlock six times that night, each time he sat for 5 to 10 minutes and just watched him, the last time he visited, the sun was just rising and he allowed himself to lie beside his flatmate; watching his nose twitch as he slept. John was so relaxed, however, that he drifted off to sleep too.

Sherlock was in agony. His muscles were heavy and screamed at him in pins and needles. He refused to open his eyes just yet, his mouth felt dry and his stomach unhappy. He raised his arms in a stretch and winced as his felt his face – that cut on his cheek still smarted from John's punch the previous day.

He paused.

John.

What had happened last night?

This was strange; for the first time in his life, he would have to deduce _himself._ Sherlock smelt the duvet that lay just under his chin. They had made it home. He knew he was still fully clothed, his shoes missing, his jacket too. He felt a warm breath ghost across his face and could smell the hint of risotto to it; John must be with him, then. He cracked opened one eye slowly to confirm this and snapped it shut once he had seen the exhausted man lying beside him. Why was John there? Had he asked him to be? Probably. It was then that he heard a soft gasp. A female gasp. He snapped both eyes open once more and allowed them to dart around the room in confusion. The detective relaxed when he spotted no enemy in the room with them. Turning over Sherlock spotted his coat on the back of the door, the noise had come from it he was sure.

More than a little wobbly; Sherlock made his way out of the bed and towards the coat. He found his phone in the pocket and attempted to read the '_one new message'_.

He stared, confused, at his phone as he walked back to the bed and threw it onto the bedside table. Looking down at his crumpled attire; Sherlock decided to de-frock. Throwing the clothes everywhere as he clambered into the bed once more, relishing the warmth of his sheets. He then turned towards John, a small smile played on his lips as he saw the man was still fully clothed, his face scrunched into a look of concern and worry. Sherlock felt a surge of unexplained fondness towards the short doctor. He had obviously been worrying over his bedside, judging on the new smudges on his wrist watch he had obviously been checking Sherlock's heartbeat against it; most probably every 2 hours; equalling six visits of 7 to 10 minutes each; going by those new wrinkles in his jeans and his medical profession.

Sherlock watched his flatmate from this cosy distance before he saw a visible shudder from him; John must be cold and quite uncomfortable.

Sherlock manoeuvred the sheets out from underneath the sleeping man in order to cover him snugly in them; he decided he had no urgent desire to move, so let his eyes close once more and let sleep wash over him.

The next time Sherlock awoke; he saw that John had closed in on him. He too, it appeared, had de-frocked and clambered back in beside the detective when he was asleep. Sherlock smiled as he identified the warmth against his leg to be John's own shorter leg, he instantly frowned. Why should he find this satisfying? He should be brushing John off his mattress, telling the man to get dressed and phone Lestrade, but he didn't want to. He wanted to pull John closer and hurt anyone that approached him.

How truly odd. Sherlock tried to shake himself. He glanced at John's watch once more, wrapped around the wrist that was lying under the owners chin. It was just after 1pm. The drug had worn off; so what on Earth was wrong with Sherlock.

After a truly agonising 15 minutes; Sherlock decided to give in to his desires; calling it an experiment for now, see what could be achieved by actions alone.

Sherlock snuck across the tiny gap that was left between the two on the mattress and carefully, nervously, reached an arm out to drape over John's waist.

Once achieved, Sherlock lay awkwardly, not sure of how to proceed, it wasn't comfortable in the slightest.

John shifted slightly in his sleep, straightening his knees and letting a contented sigh escape from his dreams. Sherlock smiled once more; as he closed the final gap between them and felt his bare chest and thighs come into contact with John's skin.

Sherlock halted, a small unidentified shiver travelled down his back bone and he unintentionally squeezed his grip on John's waist.

Sherlock acted quick and shut his eyes instantly as he felt John's breathing change.

Expecting John to rip away the moment he was awake; Sherlock controlled his breathing and opened his mouth slightly to appear asleep.

John, however, didn't move. He stared at the sleeping face of the detective mere centimetres from his own. What was going on here? Was Sherlock actually aware he was snuggled up to John?

John smiled, before quietly snuggling further into Sherlock, daring to bury his face in the warm crook of the taller man's neck.

They stayed like this for a long time before Sherlock decided he was a little too comfortable and pretended to wake up, stretching his body out around John.

"John?" Sherlock asked in a whisper.

John nuzzled into Sherlock in denial. The taller man chuckled at this.

"I know you're awake" Sherlock said his specialised 'obvious' tone.

John sighed; it was nice while it lasted.

Surprisingly, Sherlock didn't say anything about their situation; he simply stood from the bed and headed for the bathroom, not seeming to mind that he was only clad in his black boxer shorts.

John lay still in the cooling sheets. He didn't want to get up, not just yet, he wanted to lie in Sherlock's bed for the rest of his days, even if all he got was that arm around his waist, it would be enough.

When Sherlock returned he was wearing his usual cloth pyjamas and thin silk blue dressing gown. He breezed over to his nightstand and fetched his phone before leaving the bedroom without a word.

John sadly climbed out from the bed sheets and began to dress himself in last night's clothes; he then spotted a t shirt on the back of the chair in the corner. It was black and blue with thin horizontal stripes and it was long sleeved which he liked. He picked it up and smelled it; it smelled like sandal wood and peppermint; it smelled like the sheets on the bed, it smelled like the room he was in, it smelt like Sherlock. John didn't think twice before pulled himself into the material and headed for the bathroom.

Sherlock watched John with quiet amusement as the shorter man walked into the living room, fetching the paper on the way past the side table. Mrs Hudson had been cooking for them again; she had laid out a hot lunch each for them and was currently tidying around the kitchen. Mycroft sat on an armchair, camouflaged into the material in his dark suit.

"Ah, John, I didn't hear you coming down the stairs, quick, sit and eat before it gets cold." Mrs Hudson fussed.

John sat down beside Sherlock and without looking at him; tucked into his plate of food.

"Shame on you, Mycroft, sending your little brother into danger like that, family is all we have in the end" Mrs Hudson said shrilly as she placed a kindly hand on Sherlock's shoulder blade.

"Oh, shut up, Mrs Hudson" Mycroft drawled.

Three sets of eyes stared at Mycroft as Sherlock shouted his name viciously.

Mycroft had the decency to look embarrassed as he apologised quietly.

John smiled down at his eggs as he thought about Sherlock defending their landlady. The cold demeanour had softened after all, since he had first met him. The room stilled as there was a soft female gasp emanating from the centre of the room. John's insides clenched unpleasantly.

"What was that?" he asked quickly. He knew fine well what it was – who it was, and he inwardly cursed himself once more for not staying in that room with Sherlock all night.

"Text" Sherlock said sharply, looking slightly uncomfortable as he swooped off his seat and approached the mantelpiece, bringing his phone back to the table. John watched as the taller man read his text and laid the phone to one side as he continued to read the paper.

000

Christmas evening was grim. Irene was dead. Jeanette had left, not to return. Mrs Hudson had gone to bed and Sherlock was still absent.

John drank a little whisky and read his book, struggling to keep his eyes open. He finally heard the front door close and heavy footsteps march up the steps.

"I hope you didn't mess up my sock index this time" Sherlock muttered as he eyed the room suspiciously.

"Nope, I left your ruddy sock drawer well alone, after last time" John muttered darkly.

Sherlock paused in the doorway; "I keep it in the freezer. Can you please remove it?" Sherlock whispered. His words making John look up at him softly.

"Are you ok, Sherlock?" John asked quietly.

"I am. Caring is a…disadvantage. I have been letting myself slip." He said quietly, looking closely at the flaking paint of the doorframe.

John stood, dropping his book to the empty seat and walking slowly towards Sherlock, his hands in his pockets; "At least you didn't know her that well" he said almost hopefully.

Sherlock smiled briefly, a smile that did not match his eyes.

"It was not _her_ that I was referring to" Sherlock said sadly, and he retreated to his own bedroom, leaving John feeling cold and alone in the living room.

John approached the freezer and opened it to find the dark materials he had been tooth-combing the flat for a few hours previously.

He removed the small case and took it up the stairs to his own room, placing it in the back of his wardrobe.

John didn't feel tired now. He only felt sad; like something reassuring had been cruelly snatched away. Sitting down on his bed, fully clothed, he leant back against the headboard and sat thinking for a long while, eventually falling asleep in a sitting position.

"John" Sherlock whispered, he approached the ex-army soldier in the dark room. Sherlock had been trying to sleep for the last three hours. Unsuccessful, he sought out the reason for his disturbed night; John.

The last look he had seen on his friends' face before he had turned toward his room; was one of hurt, sadness and isolation. It haunted the consulting detective.

Sherlock thought about it for a brief second before he decided it was a good idea; he hooked a deceptively strong arm under John's back and another under the doctor's knees; lifting him clear off the mattress. John adjusted slightly in his sleep, moulding himself to Sherlock's shoulder and chest but not wakening.

Sherlock carried the man down the stairs carefully and into his own room, placing him down on the sheets to remove his slippers, socks and shirt.

Sherlock wrapped his flatmate up in the duvet of his unmade bed, ensuring his warmth and comfort. He then revisited his own position in the bed and turned on his side to survey his flatmate closely. Sherlock stared at the features of the sleeping man beside him; willing his memory to rid the image of the hurt he had seen just a few hours before and replace it with this more peaceful theme.

Eventually, the crazy plan from the detectives' mind seemed to kick into action and he drifted off to into an undisturbed sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

000

John awoke in Sherlock's empty bed. This was happening a lot lately. For the last two weeks he would go to sleep, _somewhere,_ in the flat and always wake up in Sherlock's room on his own. He used to sleep walk during his army career, but this was getting slightly embarrassing.

John was not keen on mentioning it and Sherlock was not forthcoming with the missing information, meaning the pair never discussed it.

John decided, this particular day, he would pretend to sleep and see what exactly what his midnight wanderings were really about.

The plan had worked, except; Sherlock had gone out. John had been lying in an armchair for the last hour, pretending to be asleep – so convincingly so, that he almost did nod off.

Eventually, he heard the front door, heard the heavy steps and heard the sigh as the detective entered the living room. He then felt his flatmates' arms underneath him, lifting him easily from the armchair.

John tried not to breathe as his friend carried him towards his own room, placing him delicately on the mattress and wrapping him in the duvet.

Sherlock himself, undressed and climbed in the other side of the bed. There was no physical contact, but John felt Sherlock's stare burning into his face, he decided to open his eyes.

"Good Evening" Sherlock said unperturbed.

"Hi" John returned.

The pair stayed quiet as they looked intensely at each other.

"Why do you bring me in here?" John finally asked in a whisper.

"Are you uncomfortable with it?" Sherlock asked with a sudden furrowed brow.

"No" John said hastily, possibly a little too hastily.

"Good" Sherlock said looking away for a brief second. "Good night then" he said promptly closing his eyes.

000

She was alive.

A thought that both men had at the same time.

After weeks of Sherlock playing sad music, not eating, and taking John to bed every night, she was actually alive. John wanted to hurt her; hence, he kept his distance.

"We're not a couple" John said angrily, wishing they were with every fibre of his being, so that he could tell her to shove off.

"Yes you are" Irene said back without looking at the doctor. John's heart leapt, she was just as clever as Sherlock was; had she spotted something that he hadn't? Were they really a couple? Sherlock was odd enough that he wouldn't tell him if this new bedtime routine meant they were dating. He shook it off, there was a love triangle at work here and he didn't like it.

They all heard the female gasp of Sherlock's phone. The three momentarily freezing to their spots on the cold concrete floor. Sherlock was there, he had heard it all. John's heart fell inside his chest. He started to walk towards where he had heard the noise; Irene threw a hand up to stop him;

"I don't think so, do you?" she asked, fear obvious in her voice. John batted her hand away as he walked past her;

"I don't care what you think" he said bitterly as he ran after Sherlock.

John was running after the flick of Sherlock's coat, he only saw it disappear around corners and eventually he caught up with the consulting detective standing beside the black car that had brought John there.

"Sherlock, come here, get in this car" John said sternly gasping a little for breath from the run, he glanced back up at the disused building and ushered the silent detective into the car's back seat.

John clambered in after him and instructed the driver to take them to Baker Street.

"You think that she was telling the truth" Sherlock stated absentmindedly.

"About what?" John asked cautiously, his hands firmly planted on his thighs.

"About us being a couple" Sherlock said harshly.

John coughed awkwardly and looked down at his hands. "She's alive" John said changing the subject. "How are we feeling about that?"

"I started taking you to my room because from there I can keep an eye on you." Sherlock stated obviously.

"Why do you need to keep an eye on me?" John asked in his smallest voice.

It was Sherlock's turn to cough awkwardly and pulled his scarf tighter around his neck.

"I saw the hurt on your face after I had insinuated that I shouldn't care for you." Sherlock said quietly. "When really, I do, I _care _for our landlady, and I _care_ for you. Even though I shouldn't, it is a weakness. Caring. Enemies can use the bond to achieve utter devastation. I had started to care for Ms Adler, and then she was gone, dead. I couldn't let that happen to you." Sherlock said sadly.

"So, by keeping me close at night, you are keeping it from enemies that you do care." John finished with a look of confusion. "You are weird" he said finally.

Sherlock looked at John with pride.

"I'm sorry, John, I do not understand emotions as you know. I didn't know how else to do it. You are not offended?" Sherlock said awkwardly.

"No, no not offended. I'm glad." John said happily.

Sherlock fixed him with a puzzled look.

"This means you are not in love with Irene?" The question was out and in the air before John could swallow them.

Sherlock looked disgusted at the insinuation. "Attracted, but not _in love_" He said finally.

John looked down at his knees once more. Thankfully it didn't look like Sherlock had caught the underlying idea of that question and he made a conscious effort to keep quiet from then on. But it looked like this bedtime buddy thing was really just; bedtime buddies. Just the next chapter in John and Sherlock's close friendship, not a relationship in the modern sense of the word, no, Sherlock was attracted to Irene Adler, not him.

They arrived back at Baker Street and the two men entered the building. John was about to bound up the stairs when Sherlock grabbed his arm, indicating with his index finger to be quiet. Sherlock had noticed the scratches on the door beside the lock, the abandoned bucket on the hall carpet, and the finger nail marks up the wall.

Mrs Hudson.

"Stay here John." Sherlock whispered, his lips ghosting over John's ear and sending shivers down the soldier's back.

John watched Sherlock tuck the cleaning aerosol up his coat sleeve and quietly pick the stairs that didn't creek. John was reminded of a cat's movements as he watched his flatmate make the ascent from his position at the foot of the stairs. He heard some muffled talking; he watched two of the American men walk down the stairs and leave via the front door before he heard a loud thud.

"John" Sherlock called. John bounded up the stairs and saw the whole situation for what it was; a mess. "Help me gag this fool, the tape on the mantelpiece." Sherlock said sharply, all the while pinning the foreign body to the chair that had recently been occupied by Mrs Hudson. John did as he was told and tied the man up.

He then tended to their landlady, taking her to her own kitchen and applying some first aid.

John felt such a sense of pride as he saw the shadow of the man falling onto Mrs Hudson's bins and when Sherlock said England would fall if she weren't in Baker Street.

John's 'crush' on Sherlock was at its highest and he knew it wouldn't be long before Sherlock found out.

"Sherlock" John questioned, standing awkwardly in the corridor to their flat.

Sherlock turned around to John as he was taking his coat off.

"Can I go to bed?" John asked quietly, pointing to Sherlock's door.

The taller man smiled kindly and nodded curtly; "I will be in soon" he said quietly.

Once the pair were comfortably lying in the double bed, John turned to Sherlock.

"Where is the camera phone now?" He asked quietly.

"Somewhere no one will look" Sherlock said kindly, a small smile flashing his face.

They lay quiet for some minutes before bells could be heard.

"Happy new year, John" Sherlock said in the darkness.

John smiled as an idea came to him, he shuffled slightly on the mattress to be as close to Sherlock as was possible without touching him and briefly, oh so briefly, placed his lips gently on Sherlock's.

John broke the kiss as quickly as he had started it and wished he could see Sherlock's expression in the dark room.

"Happy new year, Sherlock" John replied before he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep surprisingly quickly.

0000

"So the password on her phone was "SHER"" John laughed.

"Yes, I AM SHER LOCKED, I am embarrassed I did not work it out sooner" Sherlock said from where he was lying on his bed.

"Well, you did have to leave it until last minute – you know, with your dramatics in all. Honestly, its' like you act for some sort of Detective TV show sometimes." John said playfully, glad that the case was over. "Wonder where she is now" John mused, staring at the ceiling above Sherlock's bed.

"Oh, I wouldn't be surprised if she really is dead by now" Sherlock replied.

"So you didn't, I dunno, go abroad and save her before she was about to get beheaded by some Eastern Civilisation?" John teased.

"Wouldn't you have noticed if I had gone abroad? You track my every movement" Sherlock said with a scoff. "Yes, it's a shame, but she really was on the wrong path." The consulting genius sighed heavily.

Just then Sherlock's phone emitted a female sigh and John looked from Sherlock to the phone in anger.

Sherlock looked at his phone briefly before holding it out to John;

_Goodbye Mr Holmes_

"I'm sorry Sherlock" John said sadly.

"Why would you be sorry?" Sherlock mused. "This _could_ mean she has gotten herself onto a witness protection act in America and cannot contact me, which I am not sad about"

John watched the taller man with ease, something had lifted when this case had finished; the tension between them had slightly evaporated and John found himself very comfortable indeed.

"Oh, John, _please _change my text alert noise." Sherlock said handing his phone to his bed mate.

John laughed; "What to?" John asked.

"I don't care, just something other than that noise." Sherlock murmured, closing his eyes contentedly.

John had a sudden idea and he quickly found the recording facility and hit record;

"Sherlock" John said in his huskiest voice.

Sherlock opened his eyes to see John's cat like grin as he the man quickly made _Recording Number 1_ the text alert noise for every single text Sherlock would receive.

Sherlock stared incredulously at John. "What just happened?" he asked cautiously.

"You said anything" John said with a childlike smile.

"Ahh" Sherlock said as an epiphany hit him, he stared at John as though he was seeing him for the first time.

"Nope" John denied it before it was out; he knew what was coming.

Sherlock crawled to John and stopped close to his face, holding himself suspended above John by his straight arms, noses barely touching.

"You like me" Sherlock whispered.

"How big headed of you" John squeaked, very aware of Sherlock's close proximity.

"You know me, John, it doesn't work, I can tell quite clearly that you like me, and you have liked me for a long time, possibly since we met. Am I wrong?" Sherlock was intimidating, but still beautiful.

John couldn't help himself, he let go of the phone, sending it a-woll down the duvet as he grabbed a hold of Sherlock's face and kissed him passionately.

Sherlock didn't move, he allowed himself to be kissed but remained resting on his hands above the doctor.

John broke the kiss and stared tentatively up at his flatmate. The silence was deafening. John shifted awkwardly as Sherlock searched his face through the darkness.

Finally, Sherlock hesitantly lowered himself onto the shorter man, his grey-blue eyes darting quickly from John's mouth to his own dark blue eyes. John held his breath as he watched Sherlock control the situation. The brunette gently nudged John's nose with his own uneasily before leaning slightly away to see his expression; he then slowly closed the gap and pressed his lips to John's once more. For a moment it was pure bliss for the two men.

Suddenly, as though something had snapped; Sherlock threw himself back, bouncing off the bed and landing heavily on the floor.

John remained stunned as he tried to get to his knees and crawl to the side of the bed; he hooked his chin over the mattress to see Sherlock sitting, wide eyed on the floor, looking up at John in shock.

"You ok?" John asked croakily.

Sherlock didn't talk, instead he got to his feet and awkwardly side glanced the bed and John.

John got to his feet, struggling against the sheets, the pair stood opposite each other in only their boxer shorts.

"Shall I make us a cup of tea?" John finally offered to break the terrible silence that had occurred.

Sherlock watched John cautiously, like a deer caught in headlights. John took his wide eyed silence to be a yes and he made for the bedroom door. Sherlock moved quicker, however, and slammed the door closed. John lost his grip on the handle and looked wildly up at Sherlock, his mouth slightly open displaying surprise. Sherlock approached the smaller man swiftly; backing John into the wall beside the door, his eyes were now narrowed dangerously as he locked stares with John.

John was now the deer in the headlights as the taller man, ironically, without his deer stalker, pinned him against the wall with his bony hips.

"I don't understand this" Sherlock said, his deep voice almost indistinguishable in the quiet room.

John shivered.

"But I understand the chemistry" Sherlock continued, his pelvic prison keeping John firmly in one place as he rested his hands on the wall either side of John's head.

John stared hopelessly at Sherlock's lips, lured by the voice that was indescribably comforting and seductive.

"I can clearly see your heart rate has accelerated dangerously, your pupils are wide – so wide that I can't see any colour to them, your mouth is dry and your breathing is uncontrolled. But I do not understand _why_". Sherlock whispered in one breath.

"I can show you" John said hastily, sounding a lot braver than he felt.

John licked his lips and raised his hands to Sherlock's waist; "I can show you how it feels" he whispered.

"How what feels?" Sherlock whispered, taken in by John's eyes.

"How it feels…to be loved" John licked his lips again as he looked eagerly up at Sherlock.

Sherlock pushed himself from the wall and walked back to the bed, leaving John feeling suddenly cold.

"I do not think it is wise" Sherlock said as he clambered back into his original position on the bed, he turned on his side with his back to John.

John felt heart broken; the hope that had filled every atom of his being just a few moments before had been cruelly ripped away, leaving him hollow and sad.

John didn't want to stay. He opened the bedroom door quietly and left the room. Heading to the joined living space, the fire was surprisingly still burning dully as he sat down in his armchair; reaching for the green blanket on the armrest he proceeded to make himself as comfortable as possible and loosely stared out of the window.

By morning, John was asleep. Sherlock surveyed the doctor from his own armchair where he had been sat; immaculately dressed, for over an hour.

There were no clients, no cases, no new blog to read and no food to eat.

There was nothing to distract the consulting detective from the problem at hand; he steepled his long fingers in front of his mouth, his elbows resting symmetrically on the armrests of his chair.

The downfalls of having a romantic relationship with John were overwhelming, but then, did they really outweigh the possible advantages? Sherlock had no footing on the subject; he had never been in a relationship before. Of course, he could act; he could be the person of any individuals' dreams, but when it came to_ real_ feelings and acting ones' self, he was at a loss.

However, all of that said, John was different. Sherlock had never acted with John, he had always been himself. John of course had had his problems with this but had always let them be known, he had always come back, and he was still _here._

Sherlock allowed his photographic memory to display some of the moments from the past year with John in his Mind Palace; the running, the bravery, the honour, the laughs and the arguments; they were as good as a common married couple already.

He then allowed himself to examine last night's events. John's kiss, John's eyes in the darkness; the doctor would kill for Sherlock, would die for him and would die with him. It was then that the detective realised just how stupid he had been to believe that he had been protecting John all this time. John wanted to be with the detective; that much was obvious, he was already in the line of fire and had been for several months; that was why the soldier stayed.

Sherlock had taken him to his room so many nights before now because of selfish reasons, not protection; John calmed him.

John could look after himself.

John Watson was the perfect partner.

Having made a decision, Sherlock leaned forward in his armchair, placing his hands on the armrests to steady himself.

"John" he called gently.

John stirred ever so slightly but did not wake. Sherlock fidgeted for a bit before he called out to John again.

This time John opened his eyes sleepily and stretched out his upper body, trying to blink out the bright daylight flooding in the window behind Sherlock.

"Morning Sherlock" John grumbled as he stood from the chair, wrapping the blanket around him tightly; feeling somewhat exposed.

"Show me" Sherlock stated loudly, looking from the floor up to John's facial expression.

"Show you?" John questioned, tilting his head to the left and raising an eyebrow.

"Do you remember our conversation last night?" Sherlock said jumping to his feet and approaching John quietly; his back straight as he looked down at John, not quite sure if intimidating him was going to help the situation.

John tightly gripped the blanket as he watched Sherlock with slight fear.

"I've thought about it and I want you to show me. If you are still interested in doing so" Sherlock murmured as though talking about playing tennis after lunch.

"Sherlock" John sighed as he sat down once more; "You can't just pick me up and drop me. You need to understand that if you are saying yes to this; it is a relationship. It doesn't just stop when a case comes along or when you just don't feel like it."

Sherlock furrowed his brow; "Neither does our friendship" he said simply.

John nodded in confirmation.

"What happened to trying to protect me from your enemies?" John asked quietly, looking away to examine the edge of the blanket he was holding.

"Deleted it. It made no sense" Sherlock said simply.

"Sherlock…it's going to be a _lot_ of work to make it work" John said apprehensively.

"I understand that, John. I want this" Sherlock said, swooping down to lay a hand on either side of John's armchair and leaning close.

"Well ok then" John murmured as he calmly returned Sherlock's gaze. "Tonight" he said loudly.

Sherlock smiled widely; "Tonight" he confirmed before pushing himself away once more and sweeping into the kitchen to sit at his microscope. All was normal.

The day went by surprisingly quick, Lestrade popped in with a package of crime scene photographs; Sherlock solved the case in less than ten minutes. John made dinner; nothing special, just some heated up macaroni cheese from Mrs Hudson's fridge, Sherlock absent-mindedly ate a couple of spoonfuls as he examined his human hair samples in the microscope. John smiled wryly before washing the bowls and heading to the bathroom.

When John emerged from the ensuite in his old stripy dressing gown, Sherlock looked up at him;

"Should I shower?" he asked genuinely, his eyebrows high on his head as he looked up at John.

"Only if you want to" John said with a wide smile.

Sherlock allowed his powers of deduction to home in on John and eyed him up and down;

Freshly shaved, aftershave; the expensive one, showered with lime gel, cleaned ears and fingernails rigorously, styled hair, new deodorant, brushed and flossed teeth, applied talcum powder.

Sherlock glanced at the clock and saw that it was approaching 9. He jumped to his feet for the second time that day and headed for the bathroom without another word. John smiled.

Twenty two minutes passed and Sherlock emerged fully showered, his hair still slightly damp, holding his curls down. He had taken John's lead and done everything the doctor had, except he had dressed once more before entering the living room.

John stood, still in his dressing gown, and approached Sherlock.

"Ok?" He asked gently. Sherlock nodded with wide eyes. "Sherlock, are you…have you had _any _experience of this nature?" John asked tentatively.

Sherlock shook his head.

"Not even…with yourself?" John questioned feeling a blush creep up his neck.

Sherlock shook his head once more, now adding a frown; "Everything else is transport" the taller man said in his usual cool baritone.

"Ok, then, if you feel uncomfortable at any time, let me know and we can stop" John said gently.

"I'm not a child, John" Sherlock said sharply.

"Sometimes, I'm not so sure" John said with a smile. "Ok, come on then, lets get comfortable, your room ok?"

"Yes, is it adequate for your needs?" Sherlock asked, giving John a questioning look.

John smiled once more and nodded curtly before awkwardly walking past Sherlock and into the detective's bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock closed the bedroom door nonchalantly, watching John like a hawk. John crawled into the left hand side of the double bed, as he always did when the pair went to bed. This time was different, however, Sherlock felt as though there was a dangerous criminal in the room by the way he could feel prickling fear cross the back of his neck and his arm hairs standing on end.

He paused as he stood in the corner of the room watching John settle between the sheets. John then sat up and removed his robe. Sherlock's heart began a peculiar hammering against his chest plate. He felt decidedly odd.

John noticed the detectives sudden silence and frozen movement.

"Sherlock, do you still want to-?" The man asked, unsure of what words to best use.

Sherlock snapped out of his apparent stupor, now approaching the bed as he removed his suit blazer and began unbuttoning his shirt.

John subconsciously licked his lips in anticipation as he watched the detective undress at the foot of the bed, there was something so fascinating about Sherlock's movements; even the simple task of removing ones tightly tailored shirt was riveting to watch.

Sherlock sat awkwardly on the bed still wearing his tailored trousers and he bent to remove his socks. John raised a warm hand to follow the curvature of Sherlock's spine.

"You know, you really should eat from time to time" John said gently.

Sherlock turned to him and smiled weakly. "Do you like fattening up your romantic interests, John?"

John chuckled lightly, still not removing his hand from Sherlock's back. "Come here, you giant beanpole" he said fondly, pulling Sherlock into the bed.

Sherlock looked a little shocked at first to find himself on his back underneath a hungry looking and sparsely clothed doctor.

"Sherlock, if you don't like it, or if you are uncomfortable and want to stop, push me off ok?" John briefed his face serious as he held himself above the detective.

"Jesus, John, what have I signed up for?" Sherlock said worriedly.

"I think you'll be pleasantly surprised" John said in a husky voice.

John gently lowered his body onto the taller man, gasping slightly at the contact of skin on skin, marvelling in the fact that no one else had been this close to Sherlock. What started as a gentle, loving and reassuring brush of lips against lips quickly transformed into a ferocious and violent form of passion. Sherlock learned quickly and soon was overtaking John, pushing the doctor to the side to gain dominance. John moaned into the detective's mouth, writhing in Sherlock's strong grasp but not fighting for supremacy; he was quite happy to be overruled as he always was by Sherlock.

Sherlock's confidence grew as he weighted John down, rubbing every inch of himself against John's body underneath him. Suddenly the clothing he wore was too much, he needed to straddle John, he wanted complete skin contact. Without words Sherlock jumped to his feet and swiftly removed the remaining clothing, pouncing back onto John with renewed vigour.

The minutes were bypassed as the men's hands flew everywhere, a complete lack of control took over in the bedroom for the first time. Sherlock growled as he ground his hips into John's, the simple act of friction bringing so much pleasure. The taller man opened his eyes to look down at his doctor, the man he currently possessed, his face was flushed, his eyes were bright and his moans became breathy as he reached out for Sherlock, the sight drove the detective wild.

Sweat dripped from their bodies, mingled with each other's and made the room smell gloriously masculine. John couldn't get enough of this feeling, being completely controlled by his flatmate, the brilliant Sherlock Holmes' attention was all his with no interruption. He looked up at the brunette, watching his bright grey eyes roll and flicker under long eyelashes as he continuously ground his hips into John's, John was close, he watched as Sherlock's mouth parted and his breathing became erratic. He was causing this; John was causing Sherlock to become an animal of desire, and with that thought, John's back arched and his eyes fell into the back of his head in pleasure. He screamed his flatmates name and bucked wildly, a hot liquid landing between them.

John rode the wave of complete ecstasy with ease, slowly coming back around in time to see the great detective's grey eyes wide and his breathing harsh, the man was still thrusting, now into John's fresh deposit across his hip and chest.

John braced the man with his hands on his upper arms;

"Sherlock, come here" John said, his excitement picking up once more as he moved one hand to Sherlock's swollen organ. Sherlock stopped moving and stared down at John with slight fear, apprehension and worry etched into his forehead. "It's ok, you've just got to let go Sherlock, try not to think" John whispered against the younger mans' lips before he kissed them, distracting Sherlock from what he was doing further down; John used what he could to lubricate Sherlock as fully as he could before redirecting the taller man to his own opening. "Careful" John whispered as he broke their kiss just enough to wrap a hand around his waist and gently pull him into him.

Sherlock's jaw dropped open of its own accord, his eyes staring into John's deep blue ones in wonder. John gritted his teeth as Sherlock breached the barrier between their bodies. A series of gasps and groans were released until Sherlock was fully inside his doctor. They paused for a moment as John realised his own excitement was back in full force.

"John" Sherlock managed as he stared, still wide eyed, at his flatmate.

"Sher-….pull out a little and push back in, slowly" John instructed breathlessly. Sherlock did as he was instructed, feeling white hot pulses running through his veins. Simultaneously the pair cried out, Sherlock loudest of all as his whole body went ridged before falling onto John; still tightly packed inside the smaller man.

For a while the two men focussed on their breathing, John subconsciously running a hand through Sherlock's sweat ridden curls.

"John" Sherlock started as he lifted his head from John's shoulder.

"Hmm" John said, his eyes lazily closed as he basked in a double orgasm adventure.

"Thank you" Sherlock said quietly.

John opened his eyes then to look up at the wonderful man lying atop him.

"I belong to you now, Sherlock" John said with a slight smile. "I'm yours"

Sherlock smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. "When do you make me yours?" The younger man asked, nudging John's nose with his own.

"Give me ten minutes" John said, a full set of teeth were revealed as he smiled widely up at Sherlock and gave a small breathy chuckle, receiving a kiss for his answer.

The End


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